The Lie that Binds
by smallvillefics
Summary: A single lie unites Chloe and Olvier, surpassing the secrecy of even a hero's identity. Set a couple years AU after Justice, by timeline sort of an alternate S8.       - CHAPTER 5: Doing the Deed -
1. Introduction

**Author's Note**: Thanks so much to all my loyal reviewers. Your kind words are such a source of encouragement, and also give me an indication as to what stories you truly want to see more of. Think of reviews as your own personal voting machine.

To anyone following any of my other WIPs, such as Life Can Be Deceiving, or Angry all the Time, I am_ not _giving up on those fics. I'm simply waiting for the moment to strike where I can finish them in the fashion they deserve.

I'm sorry I'm still behind on my other works, but I've been holding back this fic for some time now, and I'm tired. I'm ready to start sharing it. I hope you enjoy this as much as I've enjoyed writing it. It's not yet a completed fic, but I do already have several chapters written, so take heart.

**The Lie That Binds**

She heard him before she saw him. Following the grunting noises and heavy breathing she peeked around the corner, slightly hesitant, observing him for a moment. Sweating and heaving Oliver appeared to be exhausting all possible energy through his boxing workout. His eyes fierce on the target as he hit it, over and over and over. Clearing her throat she announced herself. "Did that bag do something to you? Don't tell me you found it chewing your Armani shoes again," she clucked her tongue, teasingly.

His disinterested eyes barely flicked over her, a hand reaching out to steady the swaying heavy bag. "You need something?"

She blinked in surprise. No clever retort, no acknowledgment of her wit. "The guys said you'd be training here."

"I figured."

So that's how it was going to be. "What's wrong?" she inquired swiftly.

"What do you mean?" he played dumb.

"Are you upset about something, or are you upset with me for something?"

A careless smile crept up the side of his mouth. "Have you done something I should be upset about it?" he laughed unfeelingly to himself. Catching the concern in her eyes he tried to derail the coming intervention. "I'm not upset with you Chloe."

"So you're upset about something else."

"I didn't say that."

"You didn't say you weren't, either. You gonna spill it, or am I gonna have to beat it out of you?" she picked up a pair of boxing gloves in contemplation.

"I'd like to see you try," he stared down from his full 6'3" frame, imposing on her 5'5" self.

"Are you really trying to intimidate me?" she asked incredulously. "We both know you're twice my size and you'd kill me in hand to hand combat. We both also know that these ten teeny fingers could rain destruction down on your head with a few keystrokes."

He closed his eyes and tried to regain his composure. He knew why he was getting worked up, but he had no right to take it out on her, an innocent bystander.

"Sorry," he ducked his head, stepping back into a more relaxed posture, jaw still tense.

She motioned for him to follow her over to the benches. Finding the fridge she grabbed them each a bottle of water, tossing his to him. Swigging the liquid gratefully, he leaned his head against the concrete wall.

"When did you take up boxing?" she asked randomly.

"When I stopped hitting the bottle, I started hitting the bag." He sighed and stared into the distance.

"Oliver, if you can't tell your Sidekick, who can you tell?" she offered.

His tension was palpable. "Things can't stay the same. I can't do this alone," he admitted, in one of the quietest voices she'd ever heard him use.

It worried her. He drank, but no longer to excess. He still seemed to enjoy female company... just not quite as recklessly. She knew the loss of Lois had bothered him for a while, but she'd thought he'd bounced back. Was she wrong? Was something from his past still plaguing him? Or was it something new?

"You don't have to," she reminded him gently. The depth of caring in her eyes surprised him. "That's what your friends are for."

If only she knew the irony her words held.

"It's not about me," he clarified. "It's just... there is so much going on. Things I can't control, and I'm not sure how to make sure they're taken care of."

"Oliver, you're talking in riddles. I'm right here, just be blunt. Whatever it is, you can tell me. I can take it."

He was hunched over now, one palm rubbing his forehead tiredly. "What happens if something happens to me?"

"Nothing's going to happen to you," she tried to reassure him.

"This isn't about me, don't you see? What if something happens to me? What happens to all of you?" he vented, the worry creasing his brow, showcasing the lines already forming by his eyes. He paused.

She stayed silent this time, waiting for him to continue.

He pulled his knees up, resting his arms long across them as he looked at her. "I don't like starting things I'm not prepared to finish. As it stands right now, if I'm ever... out of the picture, the League's over and done with."

"That's not true. We won't give up fighting; you know that," she promised him. Their ragtag group of heroes had come too far to turn back now. She liked to believe that if push came to shove, they'd band together more tightly than ever.

"No, but you won't always have the resources to get the job done either, will you?"

"We'll find a way. We're fighters."

"I know you are."

She tried to decipher him, his body language. He seemed to be wrestling with something, but she was having trouble figuring out which argument he needed to hear. He was anticipating his demise and worrying about them. Did he need to know he'd be missed? That they'd always go on, even without him? That he was needed for more than his money? She searched for the words that would reach him. "Where is this coming from?"

"A few weeks ago I updated my will." His admission hung ominously in the air.

"Ah." So there it was then. Once again he was facing his own mortality, and that had never been an easy task for him.

"The League would not function at its highest level without the funds to do it."

"That's true," she conceded.

"Sometimes I hate being rich."

"And sometimes I hate being poor," she retorted quickly, with a hint of a smile.

"Yeah, yeah, nobody wants to hear the rich guy complain," he waved her off.

"Keep going," she cajoled him.

"I've got to find a way to take care of what's important," he implied clearly.

"I've yet to see a wall you can't scale. Somehow, eventually you'll find a way out. As long as you keep looking, you'll get your answers."

"I hope so," he murmured to himself, patting his forehead with the terrycloth towel. He cocked his head sideways. "That was a pretty good pep talk. If you ever change your mind about Watchtower, you'd make a great cheerleader," he grinned cheekily, his apprehension lessened, but not entirely abated.

She rolled her eyes at his antics. "Aren't you the one who said there was no turning back?"

"Going forward you're going to need a costume at some point, right? I'd be happy to buy you some pom-poms..."

She threw a towel at his head, drawing herself to her feet. "And on that note, I take my leave. I've officially fulfilled my duties for the day. Stop by Watchtower tomorrow, we have some new crime hotspots in the city."

His ears perked up at the new intel. "That's right, you did come by for a reason."

"Nothing that can't wait."

"Then why'd you traipse all the way down here?"

"Word travels fast, Oliver. You've been a little out of your head space lately."

"So you were checking up on me?"

"I just thought maybe you'd like something to refocus your attention on, but you clearly have a pretty full plate right now. I'll see you tomorrow."

"My place," he suggested out of the blue.

"Why?" Years of training had her automatic suspicion kicking in.

"Ever since Bart spilled that milk Watchtower's been in dire need of spring cleaning." He crossed his arms, confidently quirking an eyebrow, knowing his argument was solid.

She wrinkled her rnose at the very thought. "I don't know how he did it, but we're going to need an entirely new radiator."

She'd expected to see him earlier in the day. With his busy schedule, he tended to pop in for a few minutes or call before heading into the office. When 10 o'clock came and went with no contact she took the initiative on herself. Calling him a couple times no response, she was pleased to see a text message arrive from her time challenged friend.

12:42 PM

From: Oliver Q

To: Chloe S

It's later than our usual meetings, but does 7 work for you?

12:43 PM

From: Chloe S

To: Oliver Q

7 is fine. I'm supposed to meet Lois for movies at 8 though, so we'll have to do a Cliff Notes version.

12:47 PM

From: Oliver Q

To: Chloe S

Can she take a rain check? I have a few things of my own to go over.

1:12 PM

From: Chloe S

To: Oliver Q

I canceled. She doesn't know it's you, but she hates you. See you at 7.

Setting an alarm for herself in case she got distracted, Chloe pushed thoughts of Oliver's recent behavior to the wayside and dove back into another government database. The tactic worked well when she had direct Watchtower duties to perform, but the drive to the Clocktower was another matter. She prayed whatever was boggling his mind would be a small speed bump instead of a major road block. After all, didn't they have enough every day drama in their lives?

He greeted her as soon as her heel stepped off the elevator. Tie long gone, his dress sleeves were rolled up and the top buttons left undone. By the looks of things he must have had a long day at the office.

"Which do you prefer – pizza or chinese?" He held up two takeout menu choices.

"I grabbed a burger on the way over, I'm fine."

He looked at her doubtfully. "Don't take this the wrong way, but I've seen you eat. A burger isn't going to offer sufficient value and this could take a while."

She made a face at him and redirected. "What kind of coffee do you have?"

"The kind in a tin?"

"Pizza and Starbucks it is."

Nodding his acceptance of her odd request he reached for his phone while she settled in at the kitchen table, opening her laptop. Chloe was showing him the topical map she'd created, indicating the sudden spike in crime rates in select locations. They tried to find a connection between the crimes or areas, but were getting nowhere fast when the food finally arrived.

"Time for a break, Sully." He closed her laptop and set it on the counter, placating her with what he assumed had to be a complicated and time consuming coffee beverage the barista was sure to have resented making.

Dinner conversation was forced and stilted. Chloe inserted tidbits about Bart and AC to spark some interaction, but he mostly offered small guttural noises in response. _Huh. Hmm. Uh uh. Mm Hm. That so? Sounds good. Okay._ This was not a good sign.

Wadding up her paper napkin she tossed it on her plate and took advantage of the break to use the bathroom. She discreetly peeked in his medicine cabinet, checking for anything out of the ordinary. You could never be too sure, she always said. Pill bottles seemingly in order she padded back down the hall, finding him staring out the balcony window. Eyes on his broad expanse of back, she'd bet twenty dollars he had stress knots in there. Hearing her footsteps his gaze turned to her. There was something deeply serious, not just in his eyes, but also in the way they focused directly on her. They seemed to have a lot to say, but she could barely begin to guess their meaning. The only thing she knew for sure was that as soon as they landed on her, she could feel the winds of change already brushing against her skin.

"We need to talk," he intoned deeply. They were standing a room apart, but it still felt too close. Neither one seemed inclined to move.

"What about?" Dread and fear quickly became her ruling emotions. She watched as he ran his hand through his hair, needing something for his hands to do. Forcing his hands to his side she watched his mouth twitch. It was as if he was rolling the words around in his mouth, testing how they felt before he spoke. "I updated my will." He started with old material.

"You mentioned that yesterday."

"I changed the benefactor. Previously the majority was divvied up between several charities, save for a few exceptions."

"So who's the new recipient sure to be speeding up your demise?"

"You."

The shock froze her in place. Absolutely stunned, Chloe Sullivan was speechless. Blinking several times replaying the single word in her mind, she wondered if she'd heard correctly. "Me?"

"You."

"Oliver, you can't possibly think that I'm -"

"There's more."

She wished she carried a fan on her, because the room's heat had increased tenfold since thirty seconds ago. "I need to sit down." Collapsing on the couch she took a deep breath.

He waited for the moment to pass, until the spark of curiosity in her eyes had returned. "You know better than most what this past year has been like, for all of us. I've had some pretty big life decisions to come to terms with."

"We're still alive, so I'd call it a pretty good one."

"The past few months I've been evaluating what is most important to me in this world. What priority comes before everything else, and it was clear – the League. It's the closest thing I have to a legacy in this world; it's what I'm most proud of. It's also the most difficult to protect, logistically."

She nodded, affirming she was still on the same page as him, even though she didn't know how the chapter ended.

He tried to describe what made the league's existence even possible. "I fund everything out of my own pocket, with the exception of all the Queen Industries technology I'm able to access and dismiss as business. That's one benefit of being the CEO. But if something were to happen to me, it could all unravel quickly. Whoever is named executor of my will would undoubtedly learn of my side projects."

"Placing the League in danger," she finished, understanding.

"You're the only person I can trust Chloe, with this combination of information and responsibility."

"I don't know what to say, except... let's hope it never comes to that."

"I'm still not done." This time his eyes seemed to be bracing for the big finale. "If I name you as the benefactor, the will will be disputed, no doubt about it. Between the shareholders and the board members, me leaving my billions to a random girl from a small town with no business background is more than enough to throw them into an uproar. If nothing else they'll tie this up in probate for years. "

"If that's unavoidable, then doesn't that defeat the whole point of your plan?"

"So we make it avoidable."

"How do we do that?"

That dramatic, slightly desperate look came back over his face. "I know I sound crazy. I know this makes no sense... except that it's the only thing that makes sense. It's ridiculous and preposterous and about a hundred other psychotic adjectives..."

"You're talking in riddles again, Oliver."

"I have looked everywhere for another solution. I've barely slept in days trying to come up with something else. I don't know what else to do. The only way for me protect the League, to ensure that my estate is protected and preserved, to solidify that my business associates have no chance to get their hands on my money is..." His mouth had gone dry as sawdust and it took everything in him to force the words from his lips. "...if we get married."

She thought no bombshell could possibly top the first. She couldn't have been more wrong. Nerves igniting her body, she physically shook with overload and she began to laugh. An awkward, heaving chuckle at first, then with her head thrown back as the absurdity of it all sank in.

"Marry you?" She held her stomach, belly aching already. She lifted her eyes to him and the smile died on her lips. Her loose giggles were in stark contrast to his own behavior, so tightly controlled."You're for real, aren't you?"

He cleared his throat. "I don't see any other way. You think I don't know how this sounds?" he growled in frustration. He felt foolish enough without being her comic relief for the evening. "I had a close call a few months ago," he revealed.

"How close?" She asked, suddenly concerned, for both his physical and emotional wellbeing.

"Closer than I'd like, but it was a wake up call. All this could be gone tomorrow. I think about all the reasons I became the Green Arrow... not only would I not be here to patrol the streets, but I'd be dropping the ball on an entire community that could no longer operate."

"I get that, those fears, I really do. But even so, that's not justification for a marriage. I know people from your circle may marry for business reasons, but come on."

"What I'm asking is colossally huge and if you can't handle it, then you can walk away. I won't lay this on your shoulders."

"I don't think you understand what you're asking," she tried to reason with him. Her thoughts hadn't even progressed to the point of dealing with what his question meant for her; her worries were focused solely on what his mindset must be to have gotten to that point.

"Let me just ask you one question – if you woke up tomorrow and realized everyone you cared about was in danger and you could have prevented it – could you live with yourself?" He accurately predicted the response his grave question would create.

Her eyes teared up a little, slow dawning awareness shining in her eyes. "I don't know what to say," she whispered.

"I don't expect you to, not right now," he told her, coming to sit on the coffee table across her. "Take some time and think it over. List every reason you think we should or shouldn't do this. Bring it to me when you're ready."

Wordlessly she rose from the sofa and shuffled her way to the door, arms huddled tight across her chest, the only defense she had against onslaught of fear and confusion. "Oliver," she called out, obviously searching for something before she left. "In one sentence, tell me why I should do this."

His eyes were afflicted, fighting a battle he wasn't sure he could win. He stared her dead in the eye. "To protect the people we love."


	2. Convincing Her

Chloe didn't so much as acknowledge the doorman she always greeted with a kind smile. She felt dizzy with all the new information that had taken up residency in her mind. To some degree she found it impressive that he'd taken the wind out of her sails so easily.

Her steps were small, her size six feet practically dragging on the ground as she found her car. Confused, she tugged on the door handle three times before realizing she'd never unlocked it. Digging through her purse she finally wrangled her keys, clicking at any button on her key fob until one finally granted her access. Sliding into her Yaris, she let the contoured seat curve to her frame. Hands gripped at ten and two, she dropped her head against the steering wheel.

The lightheadedness took over her again and she prayed for the ability to drive home; there was no way she could get back on that elevator and have a conversation with that man right now and she certainly didn't want to be stuck in his parking garage. Waiting for the moment to pass she started the engine, letting the hum of the motor wash over. It was regular, steady, dependable... exactly what she needed right now.

It didn't take many turns to escape the city lights and turn for the open road. The highway was quiet this time of night, only a handful of other cars ever within her sight. There was something about driving at night that always put her at ease. Her father used to tell her stories of when she was a little girl, how she used to fuss and cry, causing her parents all sorts of misery. One night he tucked her into the backseat, taking her along for a quick drugstore run and she fell contentedly into dreamland within a ten minute drive. For a few years when she used to get sick or antsy or had just eaten too much sugar, they'd take her out for a country drive and every time it worked like a charm, lulling her to sleep. Of course, stages like that aren't meant to last forever. By middle school those days were long gone, but the pull of the night had never entirely released her from its clutches.

Breathing came more easily now, as if being returned to her own atmosphere. Her hands no longer shook and the fog that had clouded her mind lifted. But as her panic dissipated, a slew of questions flew into her mind. She realized how well he knew her when he told her to list every reason she could think of, because she would.

Could he honestly be considering this? It was such an outrageous idea she would never have believed he was serious, if not for the fear inducing look on his face. Oliver was not a man that worried easily. He jumped across rooftops, ziplining and rappelling his way through this world in addition to running a Fortune 500 company. He didn't stutter – and he hadn't, not once during his small speech.

Him and his damn impassioned speeches. He really knew how to let you feel his heartbeat when he wanted to. She knew he was aching inside with the pain of what could be, what could go wrong. But marriage? Was that really the only answer he could come up with?

It's not like they were even part way there! They'd never been romantically entangled in even the slightest degree. She'd easily admit that he had a smile that could charm a dog up a tree, but that was more a factual observation than delicious intrigue.

Why her? She snorted at the obvious answer. Who else could he ask? She guarded all his other secrets. What was one more? A piece of her wondered if she should have seen something like this coming. This was who she set herself up to be – their right hand girl, ready to take on any and all crazy tasks if it meant protecting the world.

Till death do us part. She had a big problem with that. She was not okay with him succumbing to death just because he had a backup plan in place. He was supposed to be a fighter! She slapped her hand against the steering wheel.

How could they get married? That would change everything; she may as well throw her life out the window. Her future would just be... gone. Not that she was so active in the dating scene now, but what about someday? Was she ready to give up that her prince would come? She had to admit though, some small part of her relished the idea of being done with it all. Not having to think about love and relationships, worrying what the future held. A small part.

Love, kids, sex, living arrangements, expectations... and that list was only the tip of the iceberg. Rubbing at her shoulders in futility she turned the car around and headed for home. This was not a one person conversation. She'd have to wait until tomorrow to convene with her sounding board.

The morning came too soon, the searing light blinding her. _What the..._ Were her blinds open? She cringed and whined loudly, pressing her pillow over her face. It was too late; she was awake. Chucking her pillow aside she sat up, an angry frown creasing her face.

"Good morning, my cousin!" Lois chirped happily, holding her coffee mug high in a toast.

"Lois, why are my blinds open?" she asked irritably.

"Because you get mad when I wake you up," she explained logically.

"What do you want?"

"Geez, what crawled up your sunshine hole and died? I'm going to guess that whatever you did last night didn't compare to the evening of fun I had planned."

"Lois, it's no big deal," she pushed back the covers, reluctantly leaving her warm bed.

"It is if you ditched me for it! I don't see why you won't just tell me," she complained, pouting more obviously than most five year olds could manage.

Her thoughts were caustic. _Your billionaire ex-boyfriend propositioned me, happy? He thinks we should get married and save the world in one fell swoop. _Luckily for Lois, she didn't say everything she thought. "It has nothing to do with you, or me, for that matter. A friend needed help. Come on Lo, you know what that's like."

Lois crinkled her nose, convinced but not happy about it. "Fine, keep your secrets. I have a few of my own, anyway. If you'll excuse me, I have to go see a pimp about a politician." She handed her mug to Chloe before tossing a trenchcoat over her arm and sweeping out the door.

Leave it to Lois to make a dramatic exit where none was needed. Sipping the coffee in hand, she retired to her bed again. She closed her eyes and let the words wash over her again... '_is if we get married_.' Five words. That was all it had taken to turn her world upside down.

Relief spread through his body as he stepped onto his elevator. He was ready to be home. Oliver's face hurt from all the fake smiling he'd had to do. Nothing like a business luncheon to kill a mood. Why couldn't they just have a lunch? Why did it have to be a luncheon? Sometimes he hated his day job; most days actually. Fighting for the rights to new technology, convincing someone to sell their idea, reciting an inspirational speech to move the shareholders... that was easy; not necessarily fun, but he was good at it. Dealing with numbers, sitting around a stuffy lunch and listening to 4,000 negative comments for every good one... that was nearly unbearable. All during lunch, he kept imagining a food arrow like in Yogi Bear. It would crash through the glass window and skewer a steak to the wall. Now _that_ would be a hell of a lunch. Instead he had to sit through several PowerPoint presentations that used brightly colored pie charts which, to him, served only as a reminder that he'd really like some pie.

He stepped into the dim light of his living room, stiffening immediately.

"Relax ninja, it's just me," came the lilting voice. Chloe was relaxing into one of his wide, upholstered chairs.

"I knew giving you that emergency key was a mistake," he decided. "On the other hand, you're making yourself right at home... I suppose that's a good sign." He poured himself a scotch and motioned to the wet bar in offering to her.

She shook her head in response. "Oliver, we can't get married."

He took a long, slow sip, letting the liquid warm his throat. "Why not?"

She began to sputter, all the grievances she'd been bottling inside all day making their way to the surface. "Because I have a thousand reasons why not! Because this is an idea born of desperation and that never works out."

"What else?" he sank into the plush chair beside her, placing his glass on the table between them.

"Forget everything else for a minute, Ollie. Forget your fears about the team and your legacy... are you ready to give up on the idea of happiness?"

"There are different types of happiness, Chloe. I can't guarantee that one. The likelihood that I'll find that... really _find_ that, double identity and all... the odds aren't in my favor. Besides, I'll never be happy until I know that I did what I could to protect my friends."

"What's changed? You've always been a hero, you've had the team a long time now..."

"That close call I told you about... it was more than that. It was a trap. A poorly set one, but a trap nonetheless. It's only going to get worse. The more famous Green Arrow becomes, the more bad guys we stop... the bigger a target I become. The stakes are getting higher. Don't worry about me. The real question is could you give it up, the white picket fence and all?"

"Trust me, that was never in the cards. I don't think I'm a picket fence kind of girl."

"Maybe not, but that someone special..."

She watched the light reflecting off his bar glass. "I guess we're on the same page for that one. It wouldn't matter if Keanu Reeves walked through my door tomorrow... my friends' safety comes first."

"Keanu Reeves, really?" he quirked an eyebrow.

"Shut up," a smile graced her face.

"What was it? A Walk in the Clouds? Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure?"

"Speed."

"I should've known." He let his head fall back against the chair, ruminating. "Chloe, if we do this... there's no going back to the way things used to be."

"I've heard those words before."

"We'll have a whole new life to deal with. New challenges, new secrets..." he continued.

"What's your big plan here? How do you see this all playing out in your mind?" She watched him grapple with the implications, staying so calm and focused.

"I don't know."

"You don't know?"

"If we can figure out how to bring down a group like that nasty drug smuggling ring, we can figure this out."

She felt like they were standing on opposite sides of a field. For all his determination and understanding, there were some pivotal issues she didn't think had even crossed his mind. "I don't think so. I can't be that girl, Oliver."

"What girl?"

She paused, finding no kind way to present her words. "This may be smart and logical and convenient, but... I'm not your whore. I'm not going to sleep with you." The words left a bad taste in her mouth, but it had to be said.

"I'm not asking you to."

She turned to look at him. "So what then? We get married and the press gets a shot of you leaving a hotel with some leggy brunette? I don't give a damn what the public speculates about, but I'm not going to be made into some some ignorant fool. I couldn't look at myself in the mirror knowing little girls see you cavorting around while I keep a ring on my finger."

He had to bite his tongue at her harsh summation. "I wouldn't cheat on you."

"No? You're not getting any here, you're not getting any there... you do the math Romeo."

"You don't think I could keep it in my pants, do you? You think I have zero self control."

"I think you have certain habits and expectations."

"Just to clear something up here: I've dated a lot of women; I've bedded a lot of women. I don't deny any of that. But recently... things have been different. After things went south with Lois, I didn't care for a while. If it was female and crossed my path I slept with it. Since getting back on track though, I've had other priorities. You've seen my schedule. I barely have time to sleep anymore. I'm patrolling four to five times a week, then the company on top of that..."

"Forever is a long time to be celibate." She lifted his scotch to her lips.

"Forever is a long time away," he glanced at her, speculation in his eyes. "Things can change."

Their eyes met for a split second, before she sighed at the subtle suggestion. "I'm being serious. I won't be that girl."

"You're seriously considering my offer, you're not just screwing with me?" he looked at her for confirmation, his eyes dark with soul searching. Giving up sex wasn't something he took lightly.

Her finger traced the rim of his drink. She'd thought for sure the sex thing was going to knock him out of the ring. One, two, pow! No matter how much he loved the world, she was firm in the fact that he loved women more. "I guess I am... considering it." The answer took her by surprise.

He nodded slowly, hearing the affirmation in her words. "I'll never make you that girl. I promise."

With that obstacle cleared, their body language began to change. They angled themselves towards each other, ready for an open conversation rather than a confrontational showdown.

"What about you? Think you're cut out for a life of celibacy?" He spoke in an easy tone.

"Get me a tunic and a rosary and I think I'm good to go," was her snappy reply. "Did you make your own list of topics?"

"Not on paper. I figure if we sort out the big stuff, the rest will fall into place."

"What are they? Your so called big stuff?"

He shrugged, noncommittally. "Where we'd live, kids..."

"And?"

"I figure we can live here. Unless you think it isn't big enough; we could find another place."

"And the other thing? Would you be okay not having kids?"

"Me? I was wondering more about you."

"Everything we're doing here... the choice we're even considering making... it all comes back to our very dangerous lives. Think about it, you essentially want me to marry you because you're worried the next time you walk through that door could be your last." She took another gulp of his beverage; she didn't like dwelling on that eventuality.

"It seems stupid to even think about... that."

"Would it bother you though? Guys are always the ones who want to carry on the family name. And not to be callous, but with your family background... having a blood relative in this world... Be upfront with me: does some part of you hold out hope for that, or is it something you've never wanted?"

"Honestly, it's something I don't really think about, and I don't know how to start now. But fatherhood... doesn't really compare to motherhood, does it? Guys don't have the same biological clock you girls do. That whole body changing thing... and the window of opportunity is shorter for you too. I mean even if something happens to me and you get that chance to move on... it could still be too late for you."

She weighed his words. He was right. Even if... she didn't want to think about that. "Looks like we're both dealing with expiration dates. I think... I think I just assumed it was a possibility. And possibilities change. I'm okay with putting that possibility behind me if it means getting the rest of things taken care of," she worded carefully.

"So to be clear, we're both okay with closing that door and not looking back?" he double checked. She nodded. "Okay, next item: what do you want to tell people?"

"That I married you for your money," she announced dramatically.

He looked unimpressed as she giggled to herself, trying to relieve some of the tension. "How do you think Lois will take it?"

That sobered her up right quick. "I guess I'll have to feel her out on that one. She'll be okay with it eventually. She's never been one to hold a claim on a guy." She sat silent for a minute. "Oliver... no one else can know. Not even Lois or Clark."

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" he asked her.

"They'll never understand this, they won't. And I can't bear to have Clark look at me like some wounded puppy that couldn't find a home. Lois would never forgive you, that's for sure."

"It stays between us then," he confirmed.

"Our dirty little secret." Her eyes drifted closed and he could sense the strain was tiring her out. "We've barely even scratched the surface. We've got the who and why, but we've still got the where, when and how..." she didn't open her eyes as she talked.

"We'll pick this up tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" she protested. "But we haven't-"

"We'll think more clearly once we give this some time to sink in."

Chloe fiddled with the deadbolt on their apartment door. Finally she swung the door open. Unbuttoning her coat she noticed the blinking light on their answering machine. Not that they used their land line anymore, it had really just become a virtual message system for the cousins, reminding each other whose turn it was to buy milk and the like. She pressed the button.

Beeeep! "Hey Chloe, can you toss my clothes in the dryer for me? There's leftover spaghetti in the fridge if you want it, but leave me enough for work tomorrow. I got a break in that case I was telling you about, so it'll be a late night for me. Love you!" Beep!

At least she'd have some privacy to dwell on her thoughts. She tossed a bowl of spaghetti into the microwave, setting up her laptop at the table while it heated up. Grabbing her dinner and a fork she propped her legs up on another chair. Twirling the utensil she took a mouthful, dropping the fork to type. She began typing a completely unorganized list, letting her mind roam where it may.

An hour later her fingers were cramping as they flew across the keyboard, a crazy look filling her eyes. Without warning she let out a loud growl and hit print on the document. Not bothering with her coat, she crammed her feet into her shoes. Grabbing the paper from the printer and her keys she took off down the stairs at breakneck speed.

He had been about to get ready for patrol when he heard the buzzer. Checking his security monitor he found the blonde pacing the four foot wide elevator and let her in. She practically leapt out of the confined space, her legs were in constant movement.

"Letting me think was a bad idea because now I can't stop," she sounded upset.

"Did you try switching to decaf?"

"Look at this," she handed him a sheet of paper. "We don't have answers to any of it! I can't believe I even considered this." Her hands were fidgeting, playing with her now scraggly hair or crossing and uncrossing themselves.

He sighed. It didn't look like he'd be patrolling tonight. "Number one," he read off the sheet, "Does he want a pet?"

"I can't keep a fish alive, Oliver. So unless man's best friend is a poster of a dog, we have a problem."

"A dog isn't important Chloe," he heard an edge come into his voice. She was letting herself get worked into a frenzy again. "Number two, will I have to be your date to all things corporate?"

"Will I?" She continued to pace. He hoped she tripped on the rug.

"Yeah, probably. It wouldn't look good to bring someone else."

She made a huffy sound at his sarcasm. "Fine, next."

"Three, when and where would we get married?" He saw her inhale a huge breath and open her mouth. "Okay, you know what? Stop it, just stop. I cannot do this with psycho Chloe. You're not even here to talk, you're here to fight. What happened? You were fine when you left."

She froze in place at his harsh tone, embarrassed he'd had to witness her verbal meltdown. "I got a little overwhelmed; I'm sorry."

His voice softened a little. "If you want to talk about this calmly," he waved her list in the air, "that's fine."

She normally had it so together, but she also normally ignored her emotions, pushing them down where they couldn't distract or hurt her. Being forced to pry into the depths of her heart's views on love and life had sent her reeling off balance. "Right, I'm back. Lunatic Chloe has left the building."

A look of relief flashed across his face and he looked back down at the paper. "Three, where and when should we get married? I care more about the when than the where. As soon as we get things in order. The sooner the better."

"I can handle that," she said amicably, "but I can't do a wedding, I want to elope."

"If this is the only wedding you're going to have, are you sure about that?"

"Completely. I'll never be able to go through with it with a teary Lois as my maid of honor. No Vegas, though. The press will speculate enough without encouraging the view that this was a drunk mistake."

"You ready for number four?"

She nodded; she was pacing again. This time it was a slow, methodical pacing though, their conversation becoming more analytical. She felt like they were investigating something, fitting all the pieces of the puzzle together, trying to find what was missing.

"Four, are we going to share a bed?" He pursed his lips a little. It felt like they were discussing somebody else's lives. It was too easy, almost clinical.

"It's a logical question."

"For a married couple?" he asked.

"We're not your average married couple."

"That's a good point. But we need to be."

"What does it matter?"

"We can't raise any red flags. Obviously we're not telling the general public and you want to keep Lois and Clark in the dark, too. For all intents and purposes we are a normal couple and we need to behave like one. We're going to have lots of eyes on us waiting for one of us to slip. Waiting to see if you're pregnant, or if I'm caught feeling up a model. We have enough double identities to worry about covering our asses on. We can't constantly be worrying about whether we're in married couple mode or Chloe & Oliver mode."

"So what's your solution?" she asked seriously, narrowing her thoughts to the specifics.

"We need a game plan. We need to know who we're going to be. The bed thing, for instance. We can't risk someone finding out we have separate bedrooms or that one of us is sleeping on the couch. I know it seems silly and that we're behind closed doors, but walls talk. And Clark likes to appear from out of nowhere and Lois isn't going to call before coming over."

She chuckled, weakly. "You're right. Time to work on the game plan then. For the record though, you're not sleeping naked."

He laughed along with her. "For the record... you are."

A burst of laughter spilled out of her and she wagged her finger at him. They were going to need to keep their sense of humor if they were ever going to get through this. "What else?"

"We should probably decide on sort sort of acceptable PDA. Not for the press necessarily, they'll just assume we're private, but friends and family will find it odd if we high five each other hellos."

"I feel like we're writing a reverse code of conduct book. '_Subjects shall caress each other no less than once every hour_'," she said with a faux stern voice. "What about all hellos and goodbyes?" she suggested. "For hellos we could... kiss. And for goodbyes maybe..."

"Forehead kiss?" he suggested.

"Sounds reasonable."

"You're going to have to pick out a ring," he pointed out.

"Yeah..." she trailed off, something occurring to her. "When should we tell Lois and Clark? Not the whole truth, but the us, the wedding."

"Do you really want to tell Lois you're engaged and she's not invited?" he questioned.

"Good point. I'm going to have to figure out what to tell her."

"If we go ring shopping it may leak out," he reminded her.

"Can't you just have them email some photos online? I'm really not that demanding."

"Who buys jewelry online?" he asked incredulously.

"I do, all the time."

"We're not talking about a twenty dollar piece of fashion jewelry here. This is a wedding ring."

"So?"

He dropped his chin forward, giving up. "Never mind. That's the end of your list and I should really patrol tonight. Can we sort more of this out tomorrow?"

"Yeah. Sure," she nodded accomodatingly. "I have to ask: how can you be so calm about all this? These are our lives we're talking about."

"I've had a little more time to process this than you. You'll be okay."

She really hoped so.


	3. Taking Care of Business

**Attention Readers**_: If you ever notice that one of my pieces doesn't seem to read correctly, it's because F F . n e t does not preserve the way I use line breaks. I will try to remember to fix this, but I know things will fall through the crack. If it bothers or confuses you, I promise that the formatting will look correct on my personal LJ if you'd like to read it there. Thanks for the lovely reviews thus far. _

* * *

Oliver and Chloe had spent the last couple days hammering out the details for their unique union to be, trying to figure out how much had to change and how much could stay the same. Chloe was less than thrilled at the prospect of playing a trophy wife at social and business functions, but she'd put up with more terrible things than that before. For all appearances Oliver seemed more at ease than Chloe, but looking around his world he just kept wondering how he was going to fit a wife in it.

The reality was there wasn't much more to tackle besides the wedding itself. The last few days had really been more about coping and preparing mentally more than clearing any logistical roadblocks. They were meeting constantly or phoning and texting any time even a small question or comment arose.

To: Chloe

From: Oliver

Message: We can't keep anything with peanuts in the house.

To: Oliver

From: Chloe

Message: I know.

Heels clicking across the cement she spotted him at the outdoor cafe table. She presumed it was him, anyway. Newspaper spread wide, it covered his face. The discarded section folded haphazardly on the table beside his coffee. She pulled the chair out, metal legs scraping loudly against the pavement. He lowered the paper.

"Morning." She took off her light jacket and draped it over the chairback. It was going to be a warm day. "I'll be right back." Grabbing a cheese danish and her coffee she returned to the table. "So what do we have left?"

"Not much. We have to get the marriage license. I have to leave town."

She was surprised. He was the one talking about getting this done as soon as possible. "Okay. What for?"

"I have to go back to Star City for a few days. There's been a shift of power among some of my key players."

"Pop's got to make sure everyone's playing nice?"

"Something like that. We only need one person to apply for the license; you could handle it while I'm gone. There's a three day waiting period anyway and we can do it the day after I get home."

"Makes sense. I'll take care of it."

"Hey guys! What are you two up to?" Lois and Clark appeared at their table.

"Lois, hi... and Clark." Chloe struggled to keep a smile on her face. "Pounding the pavement again I see."

"If by pounding the pavement you mean finding Lois breakfast, then yes," Clark replied dryly.

Lois tossed her hair over her shoulder in disregard for his comment, eyeing the couple curiously. "I get hungry, fine, we get it. What's up with you two? Since when are you guys breakfast buddies?"

Chloe and Oliver met eyes hesitantly and she took a deep breath. "I'm going to be working for Oliver."

"I thought you've been doing that," Lois mentioned, confused.

"That was freelance, so to speak. This is something a little more... permanent."

Lois gaze shifted back and forth between the pair. "So what are you going to be doing?"

"Chloe's resourceful. She'll be finishing jobs other people can't, cleaning up a lot of messes," Oliver explained vaguely.

Lois wrinkled her nose at the odd description. "Then congratulations, I guess." She leaned down to hug her cousin before starting in on Oliver. "Make sure you pay her well. The girl could use some more shoes. Come on Clark," she started down the street.

Clark didn't move to follow her yet, instead studying the duo. "What could be more permanent that what you've been doing?" he asked, referring to her full-time Watchtower status.

"Relax, Clark. Chloe and I decided a while back we needed a more structured cover for Watchtower, that's all." Oliver looked completely unruffled. Chloe didn't know how he always managed to do that.

Clark nodded slowly. "Okay. I'll see you guys later."

He turned slowly on his heel and started after Lois, but not before catching a glimpse of Oliver dabbing a napkin at the corner of her mouth. His eyes widened in curiosity, but before he could think much on it he heard Lois yelling for him to hurry up and turned his attention back to the fiery brunette.

"Oh, did I have-?" Chloe grabbed for her own napkin and wiped her mouth.

"You didn't have anything. That was for Clark's benefit. May as well start sowing the seeds of our faux romance," he said.

"You better hope he's not using his super-hearing," she remarked.

"He's with Lois. You can't hear anything over her voice," he half-kidded.

She indulged in a small, resistant smile. "So your trip. When do you leave?"

"In a few hours. It should only last two or three days. We still need to get you a ring, by the way."

"We will," she said breezily.

"You don't seem all that concerned."

She glanced sideways, bittersweet acceptance in her eyes. "A ring is just so formal. Makes everything real, you know?" She looked down to her hands on the table. That finger wouldn't be empty much longer. "We'll go shopping when you get back, how's that?"

"Okay." He knew better than to push the issue.

"I should get started on the license, just in case we hit any bumps. Have a good trip."

"I'll see you in a few days."

"See you soon." She grabbed her coffee and made her way back to her car.

Arriving at the courthouse she got the necessary forms from the receptionist. Perched on a white plastic chair she started filling out all the information. She realized she already knew most of it by heart, including his date of birth and his parents' full names. Everything sounded like white noise to her as the woman took her clipboard and checked for any missed entries. A few stamps and clicks later she was on her way out the door with a beige piece of paper, giving its government approval to this man and woman.

She drove to the Watchtower to get some work done. She couldn't be alone with that paper at home just yet.

* * *

Oliver was due home from his trip today and he'd asked her to meet him at the penthouse. His flight had run late due to some bad weather, so she was currently set up workstation style at the kitchen island. Engrossed in her files she didn't even hear the elevator approach, noticing his arrival only once the elevator doors sprung open.

"There you are. Bad flight?" Her eyes flicked to him over the screen of her laptop.

"I've had better. What's all this?" he motioned to the scattered paperwork.

"Just the daily grind of Watchtower, that's all."

"You may want to tidy up a little. I have someone coming over."

"Who's the visitor?"

"Not someone who knows about this."

"You aren't going to tell me who it is?" she was mildly shocked. Due to their excessive honesty as of late, it was also a little disconcerting.

"Consider it a surprise."

She didn't say anything in response, but began gathering the scattered papers anyway in acceptance.

"I'm going to take a quick shower before he arrives."

She watched him as he headed for the stairs, undoing the buttons of his dress shirt as he went. He seemed weighted again. Ever since his apocalyptic style proposal he'd reverted back to his mostly normal self, save a few outrageous conversations about where silverware should be kept.

"So it's a he!" she said dramatically, trying to lighten the mood.

He turned to walk backwards, rolling his eyes and shrugging his shoulders in an 'I have no idea' gesture before taking the stairs two at a time.

He was still gone when she heard the familiar crunch of the elevator gears turning once again. An impeccably dressed man entering his golden years waited patiently as she granted him access. Peering around the apartment he stepped out as she ushered over to greet him.

"You must be who Oliver's expecting," she said warmly, trying to keep her reservations to herself.

He gave her an enigmatic smile. "I believe I am. What is your name?"

She noticed the thick black briefcase he was holding with great care. "I'm Chloe. Come on in. He'll be down any moment. So, how is it that you know Oliver?"

There was that odd smile again, admitting he knew some mystery she wasn't clued into. "I've been doing business with him for some time now."

"Joseph, thank you so much for coming. I appreciate you making this happen," Oliver entered the room and swiftly greeted the man like an old friend.

"For you?" he shrugged, waving a flourish of his hand. "Anything."

"Chloe, I'd like you to meet Joseph Rusakov."

Her eyes flashed in recognition. "Ah... as in Rusakov's Jewels on the corner of Fifth?"

"So you've come to me before then, eh?" He seemed delighted at the prospect.

"Oh, no. I've never been inside, only walked past," she admitted.

He looked at Oliver who gave him an affirmative nod. "A girl such as yourself? Much a pity. Well, if the girl won't go to the shop, the shop must go to the girl."

"What do you mean..." her voice trailed.

Setting the case on the table he punched in a security code, prying it open. It was made clear to her that it was not just some box. It was in fact a portable display case of sorts for his baubles, dozens of sparkly rings nestled into the velvet creases.

"Oliver, what did you do?" she turned to him abruptly.

"Joseph is a man of discretion. You didn't want to be seen picking out rings, so I brought him here."

"You didn't have to do this though. I told you I didn't care," her shoulders were hunched in anxiety.

"Fine. Don't care. I don't. I know what we'll do. Let's play spin the briefcase. You just close your eyes and point and this will all be over," he said sarcastically.

Out of the corner of her eye she noticed the jeweler shuffling his feet uncomfortably. This probably wasn't the reaction he was used to getting when billionaires invited him to their home for a private showing.

"Just one second," she held up a finger to the gentleman. Grabbing Oliver by the elbow she dragged him across the room.

"What is this? I thought you'd be relieved." He looked pissy.

"I told you I don't need some expensive rock to show off," she seethed.

"And I told you you do. What did you think I was going to do – get a washer from the hardware store 'til we get us some real money?" he said with a hillbilly accent.

She crossed her arms, disgusted with him and turned her head away. "A ring like that would be wasted on me. I wouldn't even appreciate it the clarity. It's like giving fine wine to the corner drunk."

He blinked twice. "Why do you keep bringing up money? Wait, is that what all this is about?"

"All what is about?" she retorted.

"This whole thing is because you're uncomfortable with money, admit it."

"Uncomf- those rings could feed an African village, Oliver," she sputtered.

"Yeah. And I've done that this year, too. What do you mean it would be wasted on you?" he asked bemusedly.

"I couldn't pick out a diamond from cubic zirconia." Her eyes flashed to him before dancing away again.

"Who cares? The point is that the people watching you, watching us – they can. Chloe you've got to stop this whole 'girls like me' mentality. Partly because I don't give a damn and partly because – you're not that girl anymore. If you're going to do this, you have to do it all the way. It might not be what you're used to, but shiny things are part of the deal."

Her gaze was still averted.

"And looking at me. Looking at me is part of the deal."

He saw the hint of a smile as she turned back to him. "I've just... I've never had anything like that," she motioned to the rings, "before. And I don't want to turn into one of those pretentious snobs that I hate."

"Good. I really don't want that either. So can we just put something, anything on your finger and gloss this over?"

Suddenly she pinched her eyes closed and chuckled.

"I hope you're not about to have a nervous fit," he told her.

"I just realized all this man sees after he sets up an in home viewing for engagement rings, is me scowling and throwing a temper tantrum in the corner. And here I was worried about becoming a stuck-up bitch." She bit her lip and tried not to laugh.

He took a couple steps back toward the kitchen.

"Wait," she said suddenly, catching up to him. Standing toe to toe she looked up at him. "I should kiss you." She raised herself on her tiptoes and planted one on him, hoping that this first spectacle they were making of themselves was believable. It wasn't comfortable, but it wasn't as awkward as she'd feared. She was pretty sure his lips were softer than hers were. She wondered what his secret was. He pulled back, her eyes popped back open as they stared at each other for a minute.

"Didn't see that coming," he quipped quietly.

"We're engaged and I'm about to get a ring. If we're going to resolve our lover's spat I figured we should use a tried and true method."

"Well done, Watson." Noting the method behind her madness he grabbed for her hand as they re-entered the kitchen.

"Sorry about that," he apologized to the man.

"It's my fault," she owned up to the blame. "I guess the wedding jitters are really getting to me." She gave him her best nervous smile.

"Let me guess – fast nuptials?" he observed.

"How'd you know?" her eyes shifted curiously.

He chuckled. "Most brides don't freak out until after the ring is on their finger. Usually within a week of the wedding."

She grinned spunkily. "Brides? What about the grooms freakouts?"

He looked at her like he was merely humoring her notions. "Grooms don't freak out." She opened her mouth to object, but he carried on. "I've been doing this for 23 years young lady. You can usually tell which ones will last. If a groom gets cold feet then he doesn't want to be a husband. Those guys never make it past a couple years. A man that wants to get married... the only thing they get nervous about is that their girl will change her mind and realize what an oaf he is."

She gave him a genuine smile and goaded him onward. "And why do the brides freak out then?"

He snorted. "Hell if I know. Women," he shrugged in ambivalence. Oliver let loose a laugh.

"Men," she muttered, hand on her hip.

Waiting until Oliver calmed down Joseph pushed the ring case closer to her. "The trick to picking out a good ring is choosing one that captivates you above all others."

"You have so many," she murmured. "All different, yet all the same."

"That's why I bring an assortment. Something for everyone, guaranteed."

"What about him? He'll need a band too."

"First we find you find your ring. Then, we find you bands you can agree on that match the engagement ring."

"Well, we're... I'm not looking for an engagement ring per se. We're not really going to be engaged long enough for that and I really don't want two rings. I'd prefer one."

"Okay. We'll find you one ring and then we'll get him a band to complement. Anything catching your eye yet?" He noticed her eyes had glazed over a little.

She made a hesitant face. For a girl that didn't care about the ring, she was becoming awfully picky with the choices set before her. "I'm sorry; they just all seem to blur together." She blinked her eyes, dissipating the glare shining off the flawless diamonds.

"Perhaps something more unique for the hesitant one, hm?" He removed one try to switch it out for another set of rings hidden below. "A little color to liven things up?"

These were more her style. However, trying to find that balance between classic and funky had never been an easy line for her to walk. Her eyes paused on one particularly striking piece.

It wasn't something she'd have expected to find herself fascinated by. The rock was by no means small, but it was the unusual setting that grabbed her. She'd never seen a piece wrap around a gem in that fashion.

She hesitated to say anything, butJoseph immediately recognized the gleam in her eye, probably more attune to it than she was. He plucked it from the safety of its cushion and held it up midair, allowing the light to reflect off the exquisite cut.

"This one's not like the others," she said. Oliver watched wordlessly from the sidelines, but his eyebrow was raised in curiosity.

"The prongs are magnificent, are they not? In addition to their beauty they provide additional protection of the main stone itself. You won't need to worry about catching this on clothing or items as you may with a solitaire of the same size. With an emerald like this, there's certainly no need to worry about blending in with the crowd."

"That is... really green," Oliver drawled.

"Emeralds usually are sir," Joseph responded with a wisp of a smile.

"I just wouldn't have pegged my fiance would pick that one out," he elaborated, giving Chloe a quizzical expression.

"Neither would I," she said, almost to herself.

"I'd venture a guess you both still have a few surprises in store for yourselves," Joseph continued.

Oliver watched as Chloe studied the ring, a puzzled expression on her face mixed with delight. She seemed to be waiting for it to verbally give her instructions and permission to purchase it.  
When it came to matters of opulence Oliver supposed it was his responsibility to guide her in a few lessons. For now though he'd have to rely on time tested logic to win the battle.

Oliver rested a palm against her shoulder blade, whispering his words as quietly as possible. "Think about it Sidekick. What better way to convince the two most suspicious people in your life that this is real?"

As visions of Clark and Lois' stunned expressions filled her mind she had to give him points for creative conflict resolution.

Oliver wanted to ask, 'How many carats, again?' but bit his tongue. Chloe had finally found something appealing to her that he didn't think she'd try to sell on the black market to give to charity. Of course, if she even tried he'd just steal it back.

"It has a certain classiness about it. I'll take it." She sounded surprised, but confident, marveling at the beauty of the ring.

"I believe it's now the gentleman's turn." He lifted the bottom layer of rings that had been concealing a variety of men's wedding bands. Oliver took his turn inspecting a few varieties, examining a titanium version Chloe gave him a warning.

"Not titanium. You get that thing stuck somewhere and you'll have to get your finger cut off. The likelihood of that happening in the first place is already higher than I'd like," she informed him.

He set the titanium back in its place, looking instead now at a wide platinum band. Confirming his choice with Joseph and that the rings would be ready in time, the jeweler sized their fingers and detailed the order. He understood there was a rush on this.

"These will be ready for you by late tomorrow morning. I can give you a call to let you know they're ready to pick up."

"Sounds great, thanks Joseph."

No sooner had the doors closed upon the jeweler's exit than Chloe's stomach let out an enormous growl.

She smiled sheepishly. "I guess jewelry make me hungry."

He smiled, almost in relief. "Takeout I can handle. Takeout I have mastered. Everything else, not so much."

"You did good. Your ring looks good too," she assured him.

"You like your ring?" he took a swig of milk from the carton. She made a face at him.

"I do. I really do." She paused, a fleeting thought crossing her mind. "I really hope that ring is an emerald and not kryptonite." He snorted loudly, and she grinned before composing herself again. "Thank you."

It was obvious to him she was trying very hard to be gracious and appreciative for the gifts in life, overpriced or otherwise. He stared at the phone, that gnawing feeling in the pit of his stomach creeped up on him again. He had to talk to her, and he would... later. "You're welcome. Mexican or Italian?"

"Why did you let me choose Mexican?" she groaned an hour later, lying on the floor in his living room.

"I'm asking myself the same thing," he said from the floor on the other side of the coffee table.

"Do you think for dinner parties we could host sweatpants only events instead of black tie?" she joked. "Oliver? You still awake?"

"Yeah, I'm here."

She pulled herself upright and leaned her elbows on the table. "Okay, spill."

"Spill what?" Following her lead he sat up too.

"With the exception of when we were fighting about rings you've been in a funk all day. What gives?" she asked point blank.

"You remember the scans I had you run of Star City?"

"For your patrols, yeah I remember."

"I compared them to last year's ratings. The crime rate's up 37 percent."

She let out a low whistle. "They're going to have to start tearing homes down to build prisons."

"Yeah, my home," he said bitterly. "The city's in shambles, and Queen Headquarters isn't much better."

She suddenly had a sinking suspicion what had been on his mind all day. "What does that mean?" she asked quietly.

He exhaled a long breath. "Remember how we talked about where we'd live after the wedding? Whether we'd stay at the Clocktower or get a new place?"

"Yeah..." The word sounded like a faint breath of air.

"What about an old place? Would you even consider moving to Star City, living at my house there?"


	4. The Journey to Now

"Star City?" she repeated, eyes wide. "Oliver, we're supposed to be getting married tomorrow," she explained back to him, in her requisite Chloe-tone.

"Which is why I'm bringing it up now instead of after that whole taking vows thing," he replied smartly.

"This was not part of the deal," she shook her head, thoughts spinning.

His lips settled into a thin line. "I know." He waited and took a deep breath. "You can back out now if you want. I knew the idea was extreme to begin with, but I never thought I'd be taking you away from your family."

Blow after blow, it just kept coming. She dealt with one crisis just to hit another. Like marrying for justice wasn't enough of a game-changer. Her life was the equivalent of a superhero soap opera.

'_But you're going to do it, aren't you?_' a small voice inside her whispered.

Her lips settled into a thin line as she pulled her laptop close to her and opened it.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"I want to see the scans," she said quietly. "Show me. Compared to last year and the overall trends."

Wisely nixing any commentary on the situation, he scooted around to the other side of the coffee table and accessed his remote files containing the data. Chloe mulled over the info as he explained what he'd found. Outlining the different sectors of the city, the increase in violent crime and his suspicions that certain people in power may not be wielding it appropriately. She tucked away several names to look into later, especially the local police commissioner.

"I'm not backing out," she finally said, turning to see his profile illuminated by the glare of her computer screen.

"Why wouldn't you?" he asked, as if her consideration was outrageous. "This is more than I-"

She stopped him. "It doesn't matter. It's going to be hard," she said plainly, "but it doesn't change anything. An hour ago I was prepared to marry you. It would be naïve of me to think we'd live here forever," she frowned, just now discovering she truly had been ignorant of certain implications.

She barreled on. "If the logistics of a cross-country move reverses that decision then it wouldn't have been as important as we thought. And if it wasn't important, well, we wouldn't be getting married, would we?"

"I don't know where you get your strength from Chloe Sullivan," he appraised her quietly.

"Neither do I."

They sat in companionable silence for a few minutes before Chloe reached for her shoes.

"I have to meet Lois. After I bailed on her last time, there's no way she'll put up with a no-show tonight."

"Go out and enjoy yourself. I guess technically this is your last night as a free woman," he commented with a grin.

"Missing your bachelor party suddenly, Queen?" she goaded him. He opened his mouth and cocked an eyebrow in consideration. "Tough luck. That's what you get for putting a rush on this harebrained scheme."

* * *

'_Push it down, Chloe_,' she ordered herself. '_Push it all down and force yourself to laugh hysterically_.'

Lois had praised some new comedy that had debuted a few weeks earlier. Chloe wasn't sure why she was so insistent on dragging her to a movie she'd already seen twice, but when hanging out with Lois it was best to follow one simple rule: if Lois is happy and not doing anything that will get her arrested or diseased, just follow her lead.

Spotting Lois in line for popcorn, she mentally prepped herself.

_**Things Not to Say**_

_So I'm getting married. _

_To your ex. _

_Tomorrow. _

_Which means I'm moving out. _

_Tomorrow. _

_Essentially, I'm leaving you. _

_And just because I thought we should have a clean break... _

_I thought I should switch major cities. _

_And time zones. _

_Two, to be precise. _

_By the way, I do not love him. _

_Although, I'll admit he looks good in leather. _

_Just not to him. _

_I intend to save the world one wedding ring at a time. _

_And since I'm on a roll, I may as well tell you... _

_Clark's an alien. _

_Not as in alien, to us. _

_Alien as in the boy who fell from the sky. _

_And I've known about it for years. _

_Secret? Betrayal? No. I've shielded you from it. _

_You know how I hate to cause you pain. _

"Ready for the movie?" Lois grinned, her arm wrapped around a jumbo tub of butter soaked popcorn.

"Absolutely," Chloe smiled back. "Just let me get some sno-caps first."

"To the margaritas!" Lois cheered.

Chloe was grateful for the noise and distraction a theater offered. A full two hours of bonding time void of any room for real conversation, and the movie really was laugh out loud funny to boot. There was nothing quite like a fictional laugh when real ones are hard to find.

That was followed by a giggle filled session of manicures as the girls recounted and reenacted their favorite bits.

"But I will never, never," Lois gasped out the line, laughter on the verge of tears, "tell you where I hid the blender!"

Chloe snorted as she watched the salon workers exchange looks. She didn't care what they thought.

Now Lois was hellbent on getting them good and drunk. Or she had been, right up until her phone had rung. In typical Lois fashion, she was kicking up her feels faster than a contestant at a dance-off. Some days Chloe swore she saw the words DIBS tattooed across Clark's forehead when it came to Lois. Somehow he managed to find the time to wrangle her a new story whenever he could. Chloe assumed it was out of guild of thwarting so many of her coulda shoulda woulda stories he quietly obliterated. Besides that, if they weren't madly in love, they were at least madly in denial and that had to count for something.

Dragging herself home she sunk onto her couch, leaving the lights off. Only the moon shining through the window offered any light. Peering around her second hand furnished apartment she pieced together the moments of her life.

There was a pink scarf flung over an end table; the product of an impromptu sing along to Grease. Scattered magazines covered most tabletop surfaces, along with more than one nail polish stain. Lois' dresser drawers were permanently askew, at least one having some sort of fabric jammed at all times. The kitchen chair they never moved because the legs were uneven but they'd finally found the perfect size book to prop it up. It's not as if either of them were on the verge of reading Pride and Prejudice any time soon, anyway.

She rescued her photo album from its shelf under the coffee table. Mostly newer pictures, she'd stashed a few of her old favorites. A cake spattered face from her second birthday. A snap from when she was nine, a toothy grin on full display as she gave her cat what must have been a viciously tight hug. Her middle school graduation with acne on full display.

The newer shots included a bevy of local celebrations with Clark. It looked like she'd attended as many of the spring, summer, fall and winter festivals she could when she wasn't busy getting herself almost killed. The early ones brought a reminiscent smile as she remembered Pete and the trio they'd once been. Photo ops with Lana ranging from back when they were more frenemies to a bittersweet goodbye of best friends as the orphan girl decided to embark on an overseas adventure nannying for two children.

Lois grew more and more frequent as her arrival in Smallville became permanent and the cousins became roommates. Oliver too had crept his way into her book of memories. Of course his debut had been as Lois' boyfriend in a Thanksgiving photo. There were a few other moments recorded as well; the barbecue that was put on as a thank you for Mrs. Kent's senate supporters, Clark's birthday party, and of course the official photo of her shortlived stint as Oliver Queen's arm candy or 'Watchtower's Subterfuge' as she'd dubbed the event.

Throwing on a pair of drawstring pants and her favorite cami she crawled into bed early that night. Comforter tugged up to her chin she tried to imprint every smell of her home into her skin.

* * *

Oliver had made a pitstop during his visit to Star City. There were two things he'd conveniently forgotten to mention to Chloe: that he'd gone to his family home, and how long it had been since he'd done so.

He hadn't set foot on the property since he was eighteen. Even before then the visits had been infrequent. The Queen Manor had been specifically left to the couple's only heir, not to be lumped in with any other properties or investments they'd made that could be handled by an approved guardian to be sold or maintained until Oliver was of age. No, the home was the only exception. The property could not be sold until Oliver himself was able to legally consent to the sale, and on top of that had been tied up in a form of trust that made that age twenty five years.

For a period of his youth he'd had various nannies and people tied to him as legal guardians. Once old enough though, the remainder of his years had been spent in boarding schools. He had many long term acquaintances and family friends he continued contact with from his parents years, but they weren't exactly family.

He decided the day he'd left for college that he was done with that place. A mausoleum of what he would never have again: a family. Reminders of where shortlived warmth once was and how obvious it was just an empty shell now. Off he'd went, thinking he could force himself to never go back. He survived that mentality through college. He'd hung onto it through a two year shipwreck. He'd ignored it as he came into adulthood.

During his time on the island he'd often thought about his family home. Returning to it, bringing it to life again. It was there, in the back of his mind. Upon his rescue he pushed the uncomfortable idea that broached his personal boundaries aside. Going home does not a man make. So he trained and fought and renewed his business senses. He became the Green Arrow and took the reins of Queen Industries. He did so from a high rise building conducive to saving lives, midtown meetings, thwarting muggings and random hookups. They knew where the door was and how to hail a taxi.

Since it was such a difficult area for him to inspect, he'd chosen not to altogether. The maintenance timetables that had been carefully managed for him up until age 25 he simply left in place. Turning his key in the lock had felt like falling backward in time. The winding staircase and bright foyer came rushing back to him. He had a dim recollection of getting in trouble for playing in the basement... and the attic... and the garage. He wasn't a bad child, just an overly adventurous one.

And now, that place in the recess of his mind would be his home, their home. The thought had originated as being time to take a hard look at himself. He was grown, and it was time to stop running. Once he knew he'd be returning to Star City he was surprised to know, just as certainly, that he would live in the home he'd been escaping for so long.

It was an afterthought when he realized he'd be inviting Chloe into this giant leap of his. She'd be right alongside him as he stepped into this version of himself, and she'd be there as his wife.


	5. Doing the Deed

Having checked her hair and makeup in the mirror, Chloe was sliding on her heels to walk out the door when she heard Lois' key in the door. She gulped back her surprise, feigning a happily surprised expression.

"Lo... what are you doing here? Aren't you supposed to be at work?"

"This is work. Yours truly has scored a front row seat to what is believed to be the big reveal of our own dear Governor announcing his run for Presidency," Lois chattered on, lugging a large suitcase from the closet and throwing it open on the bed.

Chloe's eyes widened in appreciation of the professional feat. "That's huge; how did you manage that?"

Lois' head bobbed from side to side, trying to find a delicate way to put it. "They don't exactly know I'm going yet."

Chloe bit her tongue, shaking her head. "Right."

"Remember Ben from upstairs? He's got the flu – the real flu, where you're throwing up and sleeping for 18 hours a day, not where you have a little cough and catch up on soaps. Anyway, he owes me one and since he can't cover the story, I offered to step in for him. The Planet was already going to cover his flight, so all he had to do was call the airline and change the name on the ticket. And voila! My big break."

"Have you figured out how to break this to your editor?" It seemed it was frequently left up to Chloe to point out the flaws in her cousin's grandiose schemes.

"I will have to remind them that journalism is a fast paced world. Ben was sick, and either I went or we missed out on what could be one of the biggest stories our state has ever seen. If anything, I'm doing them a favor," Lois pointed out with bravado. "Snazzy outfit, by the way. Going somewhere?"

She wore a lavender floral silk sheath, skimming a few inches above her knee; her hair held a wide headband letting several tendrils of curled hair frame her face. Her mouth went dry at the question.

"Ohhh, I get it. You have a date – and you weren't going to inform me," Lois narrowed her eyes in speculation.

Chloe's face heated up at the accusation. If she only knew how close and yet how very far she was from the truth. "You got me. Guess I'm just a little nervous."

"What for? You look hot and besides, you need to get out there. It's been a while since you've let your hair down and your skirt up-"

"Okay!" Chloe held up a hand, effectively stopping her in her tracks. "Thanks for the encouragement; I think I've got it from here."

"Not yet you don't. The earrings I have better match that dress; you need dangles or drops." She rifled through her jewelry box. "Okay, I think I'm missing the other one... aha! Here it is," she presented the pair triumphantly, dropping them into the blonde's open hand. "Don't get too attached. I want them back."

A lump filled her throat. She supposed this counted as her something borrowed. Her bottom lip began to tremble. This was such a momentous occasion and maybe her cousin should be there for it, even if it wasn't for the presumed reason of finding her true love.

"Chloe? What's wrong?" Concern flashed in her eyes protectively.

"I'm okay. I just..." She took a deep breath. "There's no going home again, is there?" she mumbled to herself.

"What do you mean? Home where?"

"I only mean... things can change so quickly. Promise me we won't let anything change us. No matter where our paths take us, we'll still have each other's backs."

"There isn't a force in this world that could tear us apart, little cousin. Especially not a bad first date. You sure you're okay?"

"Yeah. Who knows, maybe it's just coming up on that time of the month."

"Don't forget, this is Smallville. When I get back Clark will still have a plaid fetish and there will still be corn as far as the eye can see."

"You're right, you're right," she agreed, a hesitant smile gracing her lips.

"I've got to get get packing," she began scurrying around the room again. "When's Mr. Right Now picking you up?"

"I'm meeting him, actually." She checked the clock on the wall. "I should get going." Pulling on a lightweight dark purple cardigan, she grabbed her purse and took a lingering look around the apartment. This was the last time she'd consider the Talon home. She'd already slept her final night in her own bed. The next time she walked through those doors she'd be a married woman, only there to pack up her belongings.

She watched the flurry of activity unfold as Lois sifted through her closet, tossing items randomly in the vicinity of the bed. No more could she count on her cousin for early morning fashion advice, or anticipate what random message Lois would leave for her on the voicemail.

She was supposed to pack a bag of her own, but there was no way to manage that with Lois there and not raise suspicion. They'd just have to come back after the ceremony, that's all. It's not as if she'd risk running into Lois then.

"Hey Lo?" she called out.

"Yeah?" She threw the reply over her shoulder.

Chloe paused. "Be safe in DC. I'll see you when you get home," she finally said.

"Will do, later Chlo!"

She stepped through the doorframe, clicking it firmly behind her. Her hand pulled slowly from the knob, reluctant to take those next steps. But she did.

It was time for a new beginning, even if it was the least likely scenario she'd ever pictured.

* * *

Oliver fastened his watch on his wrist. His eyes flitted across the bedroom searching for anything out of order. Not that he was a messy guy or anything, but he wasn't going to be the only one living here anymore. Most of the girls he brought there didn't really care where his pants landed on the ground, besides, it was his turf. After tonight though, he'd be sharing that turf 50-50 with a woman who... well, whose tidiness etiquette he didn't really know.

He didn't really know how to prepare to live with someone else; he never had. Sure, he'd had frequent sleepovers, but eventually they always went back to their own place to refuel and take care of their bikini lines and such. He'd never given anyone a key, either, except friends for emergency use. He liked knowing if he wasn't there, they weren't either.

So he'd stocked up on coffee and cleared a portion of the closet and a few chest drawers for her. Having decided there was no point in transplanting all her belongings to the Clocktower just to repack them for Star City they agreed she'd just move the bare necessities for now. Besides, she'd reminded him, as long as she had clothing, coffee and her computer she'd be just fine.

His phone buzzed in his pocket; he glanced at the caller ID before flipping it open. "Hey Clark," he greeted his friend.

"Oliver, I have a favor to ask. I was wondering if you could use your inside access to see if Luthorcorp has acquired any more property in low traffic areas outside Metropolis' limits."

"It's Kansas. Everything's low traffic outside of Metropolis. Got anything else?" Oliver fished for more information.

"Not yet. I just have a feeling that Tess is up to something and she'd want to keep it nearby."

"Then this isn't an emergency, I take it?"

"No, is this a bad time?"

"There's just something I have to take care of," he stated casually. "I'm actually just about to walk out the door. Is it alright if I hit the pavement on this tomorrow?"

"Sure." Oliver could almost hear Clark's brow furrowing on the other end, setting his jaw in thought.

"I'll call you tomorrow, Clark," he said and snapped the phone shut.

He wondered how the big guy would take it when he found out he'd stolen away his right hand girl. She had been his Sidekick first, after all. He should just count himself lucky that Clark would never know the devious reasons behind their union... perhaps he should craft some kryptonite arrows, just in case. He knew the man had x-ray vision, he just hoped he wouldn't see through their disguise.

He was unsure if he should be more or less concerned about Lois. It hadn't been an easy break up, but there wasn't any bad blood between them. It had taken a while to get over; he'd even tried to get back together with her at one point, but it was clear to both of them that their time together was ancient history. No, his thoughts had little to do with him and more to do with her family. Lois was fiercely protective of her dear roommate and he only saw this playing out one of two ways: Lois threatening to kick his ass or Lois threatening to kick his ass and begging for nieces and nephews.

He heard his elevator alert him to a guest; it was Chloe arriving. This would be the last time she'd have to wait for access to the penthouse. The doors slid open and she held both her hands in front of her, playing with her handbag as her heels clacked against his concrete floors.

She looked nice, he noticed. Relaxed, but polished. Very Chloe-like. He himself wore a dark gray blazer overtop a simple white dress shirt with black slacks.

They studied each other, eyes conveying their thoughts. _Are you sure? You can still back out. There's still time. Are we really going to do this? _

"Are you ready?" she asked, breaking the silence.

The double meaning of her words wasn't lost on him.

He stepped past her to open the elevator again. "After you," he gestured towards the door.

* * *

"So where is this place?" Her hands were rested in her lap, sitting in the passenger seat as they drove to meet the minister.

"About an hour away, not too far. Thought we should try to limit our exposure for as long as possible."

"That's good."

"He's a retired minister, runs a small chapel service out of his house. Seemed pretty decent on the phone," he elaborated.

"We'll need to make a stop back at the apartment afterwards," she remembered.

"Why's that?"

"I didn't have time to pack a bag earlier. Lois interrupted me."

"Ah," he nodded. "Okay."

Conversation was at a minimal for the remainder of the trip. Chloe took to scanning the radio stations for something to distract her, but it did little to calm her nerves. The country stations sang about heartache, the rock stations screamed about sex and payback and the pop stations warbled on about true love. It wasn't long though before they were pulling into a gravel driveway; the carved wooden sign out front read 'Baker Chapel Services'.

"You ready?" he asked her this time.

"As I'll ever be," she concluded.

Exiting the car he held up a hand to block the sun, searching for an obvious entrance. It didn't look much like a chapel; it looked like a sprawling country farmhouse. An older woman stepped onto the wraparound porch, screen door slamming behind her, waving her hand with a smile.

"Welcome, come on up here," she beckoned.

Waiting for them to scale the short staircase, she stood wiping her hands with a towel. She may have aged, but the years had been kind to her. Her hair was a speckled brown and gray, no effort made to dye it. It curled just past her shoulders, brushed neatly. Crows feet and laugh lines aplenty, but it was a pleasing sight; it seemed to indicate a long and happy life.

"You must be that couple that called, Jerry mentioned you'd be stopping by today. Why don't you come have a seat in the kitchen? Jerry will be back in just a minute; he just ran down to the store to pick me up some potatoes for supper." Holding the screen door open she ushered them inside. After urging them to the kitchen table she brought out a pitcher of lemonade. "Would you like something to drink? Awful warm out there today," she commented.

"Yes, please. Thank you," Chloe accepted, as did Oliver.

"I'm Ruth, by the way."

"I'm Oliver and this is Chloe."

"Aren't you two just the picture of perfection? Those will be some beautiful babies, I tell ya. How long the two of you been together?"

Their eyes met. This was it. This would be the first of many lies to come, a string of fabricated stories created to substantiate the supposed bond between them.

"Only a few months," she replied.

"Well don't you work fast?" She winked at Oliver.

"When you know, you know," he generalized.

"Isn't that the truth? My Jerry and I were together three years before he popped the question, but I knew by the third date that he was the man for me. Just took him a little bit longer to realize that," she chuckled.

"But I've never forgotten it, now have I?" came an affable voice from the doorway.

"Maybe you haven't forgotten, but you could stand to be reminded from time to time," his wife replied, a gleam in her eye.

"You must be Reverend Baker." Oliver stood to shake his hand.

"You must be Oliver and... forgive me, I forget the name of your bride."

"I'm Chloe," she introduced herself.

"I believe you mentioned on the phone you'd like my wife and I to be the witnesses, is that correct?"

"Yes, that's right," Oliver affirmed.

"Are you two anxious to get this show on the road, or would you be interested in joining my wife and I for dinner?"

"Oh, that's so sweet... but we couldn't," Chloe deflected.

"We have some things..." Oliver trailed off.

"Anxious for the honeymoon, huh? Well come along then, no time like the present." The man started down a dim hallway, leaving them to follow along, the minister's wife behind them.

Sunlight beamed from the doorway up ahead. There was a wider covered porch on the back of the house, filled with a few dozen white wooden folding chairs, a piano in the corner. The minister paused as they filtered into the space.

"If you'd like, we can play the wedding march for you."

"That won't be necessary, but thank you," she refused politely.

"Alright then." The four of them gathered at the front of the narrow aisle. "Do you have vows you've picked out or have you gone the new route and written your own?"

"Whatever you normally do is fine," Oliver quickly interjected. "Really."

"If you say so," he agreed. He lifted up the piano bench and gathered a few papers in his hands, shuffling them into the correct order. "So before we start, you have the papers and you have the rings?" he double checked.

Chloe held the papers; Oliver had the rings.

The minister came to stand before them, Ruth watching from the side. He skimmed the words on the paper again, clearing his throat in preparation.

"Let's begin then. _Chloe, please face Oliver. Hold his hands, palms up, so you may see the gift that they are to you. These are the hands of your best friend, young and strong and vibrant with love, that are holding yours on your wedding day, as he promises to love you all the days of his life.__These are the hands_-"

"I'm sorry," Oliver interrupted. "These are a little different than what I expected."

"You said to do what we normally do. These are the vows our church uses," he explained simply.

"It's fine, Ollie. No big deal. Let's just continue." Chloe just wanted to get through this, she didn't care how.

"I'll start again.

_Chloe, please face Oliver, and hold his hands, palms up, so you may see the gift that they are to you._

_These are the hands of your best friend, young and strong and vibrant with love, that are holding yours on your wedding day, as he promises to love you all the days of his life._

_These are the hands __that will work along side yours, as together you build your future, as you laugh and cry, as you share your innermost secrets and dreams._"

She felt her breath catch in her throat. Perhaps she hadn't been paying enough attention when Oliver had objected to the vows. She'd thought it was just a wordier version of 'in sickness and health' but these seemed to be a little more detailed than she'd realized.

"_These are the hands you will place with expectant joy against your stomach, until he too, feels his child stir within you._

_These are the hands that look so large and strong, yet will be so gentle as he holds your baby for the first time._"

She couldn't look at him right then. They'd already made their peace on that life issue, but the poetry of the words did indeed stir something in her. She hoped the minister would forgive her the lie of parental possibilities.

"_These are the hands that will work long hours for you and your new family_

_These are the hands that will passionately love you and cherish you through the years, for a lifetime of happiness._

_These are the hands that will countless times wipe the tears from your eyes: tears of sorrow and tears of joy._

_These are the hands that will comfort you in illness, and hold you when fear or grief wrack your mind._"

Her eyes locked with Oliver's. They couldn't avoid it forever, she supposed. They were really doing this. They would be partners now. In their own unique way, bound together for life, together holding this secret. In turn becoming each other's haven and home.

"_These are the hands that will tenderly lift your chin and brush your cheek as they raise your face to look into his eyes: eyes that are filled completely with his overwhelming love and desire for you." _

The minister turned his attention to Oliver then.

"_Oliver, please hold Chloe's hands, palms up, where you may see the gift that they are to you. These are the hands of your best friend, smooth, young and carefree, that are holding yours on your wedding day, as she pledges her love and commitment to you all the days of her life._"

Oliver stared down at the woman beside him, palms resting atop his. Always taking one for the team, Watchtower had come through once again. Except this time the stakes were higher. She'd agreed to partner with him in this new mission. She never let him down, never failed to take care of him. Now it was his turn; he had to make this worth it for her somehow. He had to find a way to offset the sacrifices she had made for the world, find something to give back to her for everything she'd given up.

"_These are the hands that will hold each child in tender love, soothing them through illness and hurt, supporting and encouraging them along the way, and knowing when it is time to let go._

_These are the hands that will massage tension from your neck and back in the evenings after you've both had a long hard day._

_These are the hands that will hold you tight as you struggle through difficult times._

_These are the hands that will comfort you when you are sick, or console you when you are grieving._

_They are the hands that will passionately love you and cherish you through the years, for a lifetime of happiness._

_These are the hands that will hold you in joy and excitement and hope, each time she tells you that you are to have another child, that together you have created a new life._

_These are the hands that will give you support as she encourages you to chase down your dreams. Together as a team, everything you wish for can be realized." _

Together as a team, everything you wish for can be realized. They each hoped that was the truth, otherwise this was all for naught. '_Let this plan work_,' they each thought. '_Please just let the world and our friends be safe_.'

"_God, bless these hands that you see before you this day. May they always be held by one another. Give them the strength to hold on during the storms of stress and the dark of disillusionment. Keep them tender and gentle as they nurture each other in their wondrous love. Help these hands to continue building a relationship founded in your grace, rich in caring, and devoted in reaching for your perfection. May Oliver and Chloe see their four hands as healer, protector, shelter and guide. __We ask this in your name, Amen. _

_Oliver, if you take Chloe to be your wife please say I Do and place the ring on her finger._"

"I do," Oliver said. He pulled the rings from his jacket pocket and slid hers on. He wasn't sure his hand should be shaking like that.

"_Chloe, do you take Oliver to be your husband on this day_?"

"Yes, I do," she nodded. Oliver handed her his band and she repeated the gesture, situating his ring appropriately. Their hands waited, still awkwardly touching. Not holding the other, but fingertips brushing, unsure if they should pull away.

"In that case, I now pronounce you husband and wife. Husband, you may kiss your bride!" the minister grinned.

She wondered if either of their witnesses noticed them each lean back slightly in apprehension. Chloe took the small step forward; there wasn't that much room to begin with. Their hands seemed trapped between their bodies and she had to tilt her head up to look at him. Time to seal the deal. His lips descended softly on hers, placing a chaste kiss on her lips, lasting a few seconds. She wasn't sure if they were technically still kissing, or if they were just afraid to move.

It was hearing Ruth's oohing and ahhing in the background that startled them out of it. Jerry slapped Oliver on the back and shook each of their hands.

"Congratulations folks. You just got hitched. All that's left now is a few signatures."

Chloe unclasped her purse and withdrew the marriage license. Oliver signed his name first.

_**Oliver J. Queen**_ read the chicken scratch.

Chloe took the pen from him and began signing her own next to it.

_**Chloe A. Sull**_ was as far as she got.

"Hey there missy, you know you're supposed to write your married name?" Jerry interrupted.

She looked at Oliver, taken aback. "I don't, um... we never talked about that." Her eyes flashed the unspoken question to him.

"Go by whatever you want, I don't mind. Though I'll warn you, the society column will still list you as Mrs. Queen. They're old school like that."

She chewed on the end of her pen for a minute, indecisive. A thought occurred to her, too amusing to have been a fluke to pass up, she decided.

**_Chloe A.S. Queen_**

"Chloe as Queen?" Ollie questioned.

"Chloe Ann Sullivan Queen," she corrected, letting him see the humor in her eyes.

"Now that that's taken care of... who wants some pie?" Ruth clapped her hands.

* * *

**Author's Note:** If you're enjoying this story, please take the time to leave me a few words. I write for me, but I strive to update because of my readers. Happy New Year's everyone!


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